


The Three Garridebs

by nowhere_dawn_death_phan



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Tag to - The Three Garridebs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowhere_dawn_death_phan/pseuds/nowhere_dawn_death_phan
Summary: Following the events of The Three Garridebs, Watson becomes aware Holmes is unsettled by something, though what it is, he can only begin to guess.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Kudos: 14





	The Three Garridebs

One case I have taken on with Holmes that I shall never forget is that which I have dubbed here under the title of "The Three Garridebs", if only in part due to the look in my companions eyes the moment he realised I'd been wounded by one of our assailants bullets.  
Since the events of that case only a few days ago, I've noticed a considerable change in Holmes's personality.  
What I mean by that is that I've noted a definite fix in his attention, namely that which I've barely had a moment where his eyes aren't searching me for a glimpse of something, though what he's attempting to deduce I couldn't even begin to guess.

That was the situation I found myself in presently, the morning paper held upright to block me from his view, though I have no doubt his eyes were still on me.  
"Holmes, would you mind dreadfully giving me a moment without your lingering gaze, it's most distracting."  
There was silence for a moment, and then Holmes let out a dragging but poorly fabricated snore.  
I rolled my eyes behind my paper, and just when I was about to speak again, he let out another tumultuous exhale, accompanied by the sound of him shifting further into his chair.

There was no doubt in my mind that Holmes was faking, because I had known him go days without sleep before, so the likelihood of him actually being asleep was slim.  
I folded up the morning paper and threw it at him, hoping it'd encourage him to give up the ruse.  
I was successful in that respect, because he'd sat up and caught it before he'd even opened his eyes, but without the papers protection I was subject once more to his fixed gaze.

He watched me expectantly for a moment, head cocked like a curious bull pup. "You have something you wanted to say, Watson?"  
I sighed heavily. "You."  
He kept his face blank. "Yes? What of me?"  
"I don't appreciate being watched as if I am one of your scientific endeavours. If there is something you would like to mention; you'd do me a greater service by doing so."  
"I was merely thinking Watson-" here, he pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck. "-should you wish to cease accompanying me on my adventures, you would be more than welcome to settle back into your general practise of Doctor without any harsh rebuke from me."  
I found I couldn't stop myself from smiling at him. "Old boy, why should I wish to do a thing such as that?"  
Confusion showed across his face for a moment before he replaced his facade. "You are troubled in both your leg and shoulder by old war wounds at any abrupt change in the weather, particularly the cold of winter. Should you wish to spend those months indoors and under no obligation to be chasing criminals around the streets at all hours, I shouldn't complain."

Here, he pulled his hat down sharply over his eyes as if to signify the discussion was over, but in our years together I had come to know him better than that, including that which he did not say, and so I was inclined to push the matter further.  
"I think, my friend, that we have become close enough in our years together that I have earned your honesty, would you not agree?"  
"Perhaps." Was his curt reply, though he seemed dissatisfied I would not let the situation drop. "Though it might occur to you, I don't much have the patience to be honest at present."  
"Well find the patience, Holmes." I said, my voice cracking as I made mention of the virtue I too was fast losing.

"I had feared-" he spoke deliberately slowly, and with none of his usual soothing tones. "-that recent events had perhaps had a less than desirable effect on your disposition."  
My "disposition" as Holmes so articulately phrased it, was yet another souvenir from my time in the war.  
While I'll be the first to admit my shortcomings and struggles, Holmes had read more into my behaviour than entirely necessary.  
For a moment I wondered how best to explain to him that his fears were unfounded and me being shot at had in no way impacted my perception of reality as it often had done in the months following our meeting, when I realised there was a simpler way to do it. "Norbury, my dear fellow. Norbury."  
He looked at me for a moment, and then threw the morning paper back at me. "I'm glad to hear it Watson, for I'm sure without your companionship it wouldn't have been long until I'd taken leave of my senses and murdered Lestrade for his sheer incompetence."  
The man mentioned by Holmes was the head of Scotland Yard, a haughty, rat-faced, sallow Inspector by the name of Lestrade, who, while tackling every case with a commendable enthusiastic determination, lacked heavily in imagination and the ability to see beyond the obvious.

I smiled despite myself, for I knew really that Holmes remarked Lestrade to be "the best of a bad lot" and that, as flimsy as it was, he did have some respect for the younger mans zest for hard work and knowledge.  
"Speaking of Lestrade-" Holmes spoke around his cherrywood pipe (which I had no recollection of him crossing to the sideboard to collect) "-he sent a wire earlier requesting our help with a rather urgent matter, if you'd trouble yourself to join me on it?"  
"Any time." I said with a smile, and then, when Holmes and I continued to stare vacantly at each other, I rapped my sword-cane sharply on the floor to indicate my wounded leg and current incapacitated state.  
As he started and dragged a stool closer to me so that I may read the telegram with him, I felt the calm lull wash over me that only Holmes could create, and battled a smile despite myself.

I was prepared for adventure, Holmes was reassured, and as we both heard the tell-tale stomp of Lestrade's heavy shoes making their way up the stairs towards us, I felt content that all was well in 221B Baker Street once more.


End file.
